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Chapter One

“We’re orphans, just like Cinderella.”

Dahlia Wheatley had forgotten how cute kids were.

“Not quite,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got a daddy.”

“Oh, yeah.” The auburn-haired twins glanced at the man sprawled out in the seat across the aisle, chin tucked into his chest, stubbled jaw barely visible. They smiled and went back to coloring.

They’d scooted across the aisle forty minutes ago for a visit. Dahlia had encouraged them to stay and color with her markers while their dad slept. He looked weary, like a father who’d used every last ounce of energy to entertain his two young daughters.

Dahlia could almost pretend she was part of their family. For a moment, she let herself imagine smoothing that unkempt hank of dark hair off his forehead, then she caught herself.

She didn’t even know the man!

“I’m hungry.” The wiggly twin, Glory, looked at Dahlia expectantly.

“Me, too.” Grace handed Dahlia her marker. “When do we get to Churchill?”

“Not until tomorrow morning. It’s a long train trip.”

“Because Canada’s so big.” Glory nodded sagely. “I’ll get something to eat out of Daddy’s bag.”

“Let’s leave Daddy alone.” Dahlia lowered her voice, not quite certain why it seemed so important to her that they not wake him up. “He looks very tired.”

“That’s ’cause he’s not used to us,” Glory said. Dahlia thought the words sounded like something she’d overheard an adult saying. “He hasn’t been our daddy for very long. Our real daddy died.”

“So did our mommy.” Grace looked at Glory with the most woeful expression Dahlia had ever seen. “She’s in heaven, with God.”

“I see.” Touched by their grief, worried the two waifs would burst into tears, Dahlia thought fast. “I have a couple of chocolate pudding cups. Would they do?”

“Yes, please.” Glory released the paper she’d been coloring and climbed up to sit next to Dahlia. Grace flopped beside her half a second later.

Dahlia dug out the pudding cups she’d thrown in her bag before leaving Thompson to go back home to Churchill. Paying the high price for a plane ticket or enduring a lengthy train journey through Manitoba’s north country were the only choices available to reach Churchill. It took stamina for adults to endure the seventeen-hour train ride. Undertaking the trip with two energetic kids was a gutsy move.

While the twins ate their pudding, Dahlia fell into a daydream about their sleeping father and the circumstances that had led to him becoming a father to the twins. A wet splat again her cheek snapped her back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, her blue eyes huge. “I was trying to scrape the bottom and the spoon snapped.”

“You got it on her shirt.” Glory reached out to dab the mess with a tissue. She ended up creating a huge smear.

“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ll do it.” Dahlia cleaned her shirt as best she could, knowing that the dark chocolate stain probably wouldn’t come out of her favorite top. “All finished?” she asked, eager to get the plastic spoons and containers into the garbage.

“Yep.” Grace licked her spoon, depositing a drop of pudding at the side of her rosebud mouth before she held out her cup. “Thank you.” Her sister copied her.

“You’re welcome.” Dahlia stored the trash, then pulled out a pack of wipes. “Let’s get cleaned up before your dad wakes up and wonders what happened to his cute girls.”

As she wiped their grinning faces and tiny hands, the twins told her that they were moving to Churchill from a small town on the prairies where their stepfather had been a teacher. Dahlia wanted to know more about the handsome daddy, but the twins had other ideas.

“Can we call you Dally?” Glory asked. “It’s a nickname. I like nicknames.”

“My grandmother used to call me that,” Dahlia told her. Memories swelled but she pushed them away. This wasn’t the time.

“Will you tell us a story?” Grace asked as she snuggled against her sister. “Our mom used to tell us lots of stories. Sometimes Daddy reads them from a book.” She tilted her head, her blue eyes intense. “Do you know any stories, Dally?”

“I might be able to come up with one.” Dahlia spread the small hand-quilted cover the twins had brought with them from their seats. When they were covered, she waited for them to settle.

This was what she used to dream about—kids, special sharing moments, someone on whom to shower the love she ached to give. Part of that dream had been a husband, of course. A man who’d love her as her ex-fiancé never had. A man perfectly comfortable with two little girls who couldn’t sit still, for example.

At that moment, the man across the aisle opened his eyes—gray eyes that cool shade of hammered metal—and stared directly at her. A smile creased his full lips.

“Go ahead with your story,” he said in a low, rumbly tone. “Don’t mind me.”

Dahlia swallowed. Most definitely a hunk.

“She’s going to tell us a special story.” Glory nudged her sharp little elbow into Dahlia’s side. “Aren’t you, Dally?”

“Sure.” Dahlia swallowed to moisten her dry mouth and told herself to stop staring at the man across the aisle. He wasn’t smiling at you, silly. He was probably smiling because of a dream. You’re dreaming, too.

“Are you sleeping?” Grace reached up and turned Dahlia’s head so she could examine it.

“No, honey, just thinking,” Dahlia said, embarrassed to be caught in the act of admiring their father.

“Do you know Sleeping Beauty? We love Sleeping Beauty, don’t we, Grace?” Glory bounced on the seat. “Tell us that story, Dally.”

“Yeah,” the man across the aisle said in that husky voice. “Tell us that one.”

But Dahlia was hooked on his deep voice and beautiful gray eyes. She couldn’t concentrate.

Then he cleared his throat and her good sense returned. Now was not the time for distractions. She had too much going on in her life. This was not the time to get sidetracked by nice eyes.

She forced her attention away from him and began her favorite fairy tale.

“Once upon a time—”

* * *

I need a wife. Someone like that woman.

Grant Adams glanced at the twins now asleep on either side of him, surprised he hadn’t woken up when they’d moved back beside him. The woman across the way was an amazing storyteller, her voice soft, melodic, like a lullaby. He’d let it lure him back into his dream world where life wasn’t so overwhelming.

But though it was late and the rest of the car was dozing, Grant wasn’t sleepy now. He was nervous. They’d be in Churchill by morning and then his new life would begin. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing the twins by bringing them to such a distant place.

A wife would have brought enough activities to keep the twins from being bored during the train ride. She certainly wouldn’t have let them bother other passengers, like the woman across the way. A wife would have known he’d need three times the snacks he’d packed.

A wife could show these children she loved them.

Not that Grant didn’t care for the twins. He did. Dearly. But he didn’t know how to be a father. He didn’t have the fatherhood gene—that’s why he’d avoided love and marriage. That’s why he’d vowed never to have children. Because he didn’t have what it took to be a dad.

He’d studied enough psychology to know his lack of skill had to do with his mom walking out on his seventh birthday and leaving Grant with an embittered, angry man who drank until he was abusive. Grant had quickly learned to keep out of his dad’s way, to not cause a fuss. None of this had earned him that special bond other kids had with their fathers. After a while, he had given up trying to find it and left home with an empty spot inside that craved love. Two failed relationships later, Grant knew he couldn’t love. He’d vowed never to marry, never to have kids and expose them to the loveless childhood he’d endured.

Until Eva.

Eva of the sunny laughter and ever-present smile. Eva of the strong, unquenchable faith in God. Eva the optimist. After an entire year of persuasion, he’d finally accepted her love and her assurance that she could teach him how to be a husband and father. How could Grant not have married her? How could he not have adopted her two adorable girls?

Pain pierced his battered heart. He’d been naive to believe God would let him have so much blessing in his life.

Eva’s death from a brain aneurism just six months after their marriage had decimated Grant. He’d never imagined that God, the loving God Eva had talked about, would take the one person who’d finally loved him. Losing his job a few months later had stolen every scrap of faith Grant had left.

So how could God possibly expect Grant of all people to be a father?

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

Grant lifted his head and saw the woman from across the aisle who had told the twins a story full of princesses and happily-ever-after. This particular princess had long red-gold hair that tumbled in a riot of curls around her face and down her shoulders. He realized suddenly that it was the exact same shade as the twins’. She had pale features like those the Italian Renaissance masters had smoothed from rare alabaster. But it was her smile that captivated Grant—wide, generous and inviting, it chased away the chill on his spirit.

“Maybe you don’t like coffee,” she said when he didn’t respond. Her smile faltered, a tiny frown line forming between her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“You didn’t.” Grant smiled and eased one hand free. “I’d love a cup of coffee. Thank you.”

“I hope you’re not just saying that to make me feel better.” Her smile returned when he shook his head. She handed him the cup with a twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve sure got your hands full. Your twins are adorable.”

Grant took a sip of the coffee. Earlier, he’d noticed a dark stain on the woman’s emerald-green shirt, and a smudge on Glory’s cheek to match it. But she wore a blue top now. Grant felt a stab of guilt at the thought that she must have changed clothes. She looked refreshed and awake. Beside her, he felt sticky, tired and utterly weary. And he had hours to go until they finally arrived in Churchill.

“How old are they?” she asked.

“Five.”

“Glory and Grace.” She sank into her seat across the aisle. “Wonderful names.”

“I didn’t choose them,” Grant admitted. “I’m just their stepfather. Grant Adams.”

“Hi, Grant. I’m Dahlia Wheatley. I own the hardware store in Churchill.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He squeezed the words out, trying to hide his shock. Hardware? He could not think of a vocation less likely for this delicate-looking woman. Ballerina seemed more appropriate.

“I’ll confess, I guessed why you’re on the way to Churchill. Laurel Quinn is a friend of mine.” Dahlia smiled at him. “She mentioned she’d soon have a new employee at her rehabilitation project. She’s eager to have you start work. The boys seemed excited about you when she told them. But then I guess most pre-teens are excitable.” She grinned.

“Lives Under Construction is a great name for a project for troubled boys.” Grant wondered how involved Dahlia would be with his workplace. “I’ll only be working there on a part-time basis, but I’m looking forward to getting started.”

“It’s a great project. Once the boys figure out that the court did them a favor by giving them a chance to straighten out their lives instead of being locked up in a jail, they usually come around. Laurel will be glad you’re early,” she added. “Her newest group has already arrived. You’ll be able to meet with them before they start school.”

“I wanted to get to Churchill before September because the twins will be starting school, too.”

“They’re both clever. They’ll do well.” Dahlia’s face softened as she glanced at Grace and Glory. “Laurel’s rehabilitation program for troubled boys—we call it Lives—has gained a lot of recognition in the Canadian legal system.” Her voice proclaimed her pride. “There never seems to be a shortage of kids needing help. Fortunately that’s what they get at Lives, and now you’ll be part of it.”

“I was surprised Lives is so far into Canadian north, but I suppose isolation is one of the reasons for the program’s success,” he mused.

“I guess it helps that the boys can’t easily escape,” she teased. “But Lives’ success is mostly due to Laurel.” Dahlia’s hazel eyes glinted with gold as she studied him. “The building used to be an old army barracks. Her biggest asset though is the land. She can expand as Lives grows.”

“So she has plans for the place?” he asked.

“A lot. Laurel mentioned you’re a life skills coach?” When Grant nodded, Dahlia admitted, “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“It means I’ll be coaching the boys to figure out what they want from their futures,” he explained, “and hopefully help them discover how to get it without breaking the law again.”

“I see.” Dahlia nodded, but those hazel eyes telegraphed her reservation. “Is that what you did before you came to Churchill? The twins said you were a teacher.”

“Teaching life skills was part of my job as a high school teacher and counselor in a little town on the prairies.” Grant tried to keep his voice light, refusing to show how frustrated he was with God’s timing. “When they closed the school, my job ended.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve heard that’s happening a lot lately in rural areas.” Sympathy shone in those amazing eyes. “No family?”

“I’m afraid my stepdaughters are stuck with only me.” Grant glanced down.

“I’m sure they’re lucky to have you.” A soft look washed over Dahlia’s face when her glance again drifted to the sleeping children. Then her mouth tightened. “Though if family doesn’t offer the support it should, sometimes it’s better to be alone.”

Though Grant totally agreed with her, Dahlia’s voice held a note of longing that made him wonder how her family had let her down. In fact, he’d begun to wonder a lot of things about this beautiful woman.

“How did you happen to end up in the hardware business?” A shadow fell across her face. “If that’s not prying,” he added.

“It’s not. Anyone in Churchill could tell you and probably will if you wait long enough. Everyone knows everyone’s business.” She looked completely comfortable with that, but Grant’s worry hackles went up.

What if everyone noticed his shortcomings as a father? Maybe then they’d think he couldn’t work with the boys at Lives.

He desperately needed that job.

“Actually I’m—I was an architect.” She paused and he knew there was something she wasn’t saying. “I came to Churchill to be closer to nature while I do something worthwhile with my life.” Dahlia made a face. “Does that sound all noble and self-sacrificing? It isn’t meant to be. The truth is I left home after a split with my fiancé and my family. A friend told me about Churchill, and here I am.”

Something about the way she said the words gave Grant the impression that there was a lot more to her story. He wanted to hear the rest, but he could hardly ask her to confide in him. They’d only just met.

“Judging by what I saw when I came for an interview last month, Churchill is an interesting place.” Grant struggled to sound positive as a thousand doubts about this move plagued him again.

“Churchill is isolated, which makes it an expensive place to live,” Dahlia conceded. “The winters are cold and long, and there aren’t a lot of the conveniences people farther south take for granted. But there are tremendous benefits to living here.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, while wondering what they were.

“We live with polar bears, belugas and a lot of other wildlife in gorgeous terrain,” Dahlia bragged with a toss of her curls. “In case it doesn’t show, I love Churchill. There’s no place else I’d rather call home. If you give it a chance, I think you’ll like it, too.”

Since Grant and the twins didn’t have anywhere else to go, he’d have to like the place.

“When we first left Thompson, I noticed you working on something.” He hadn’t wanted to ask before but now he glanced at the roll into which she’d stuffed her papers. “Blueprints?”

“Yes. Every year I sponsor a community project. This year I’m going hands-on with one at Lives.” Her smile dazzled him. “Would you like to see my plans?”

She sounded so enthusiastic his curiosity grew.

Dahlia popped off the lid without waiting for an answer. Her hands almost caressed the vellum as she unrolled it. She shifted so Grant could look without moving and perhaps wakening the twins. He gave the drawings a cursory glance. Surprised he took a second look then blinked at Dahlia.

“A racetrack?”

“Close.” Her hair shimmered under the dim lights. She grinned with excitement as she leaned near. “It’s a go-kart track,” she whispered, obviously not wanting the other passengers to hear.

“Go-karts?” Grant frowned. “For the town?”

She shook her head slowly. “For the boys at Lives Under Construction. And their guests,” she amended.

“Good for you.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. From what he’d seen of the place a month ago, Lives Under Construction needed some work. But somehow he’d never thought go-karts would be a priority. “Very nice.”

“Don’t ever try to fake it, Grant. You are so not good at it.” Laughter bubbled out of her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother it, her eyes wide as she scanned the car to see if she’d woken any sleeping passengers. When she spoke again, her soft voice brimmed with suppressed mirth. “I know what you think. Go-karts are frivolous and silly, and they are. But they’re going to be so much fun!”

Grant didn’t know how to respond and Dahlia noticed. Her face grew serious.

“You don’t approve.” She sighed. “The boys are sent to Lives by the justice system to do time for their crime. And they should.” She chose her words with care. “But many of them come from places where they’ve never been allowed to dream or imagine anything other than the life from which they’ve escaped.” She gauged his reaction with those hazel eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Fathers were in jail, mothers were in jail, kids follow the pattern.” He nodded somberly.

“That, or they were beaten or abused, or forced onto the streets. Or any other horror you can name. Not that it excuses their crime.” Dahlia’s tone was firm. “But that’s not my point.”

Clearly Dahlia Wheatley had thought through her plan very carefully, but Grant couldn’t figure her out. An architect running a hardware store who wanted to build a go-kart track for some problem kids.

Unusual didn’t begin to describe this woman.

“I want to get the boys to dream, to visualize a future that they can create themselves.” A wistful smile spread across her face. “I want these boys to reach for something more than what they’ve had.”

“Why go-karts? I mean, how will go-karts help them do that?”

“I told you. It’s a community project.”

“But it’s not really for the community, is it?” he pointed out quietly.

“In a way it’s for the community.” Her eyes darkened to forest-green, her frustration obvious. “I want to do it because there was a time someone helped me see beyond my present circumstances. And besides, this project will give the boys focus and keep them out of trouble.”

“Has there been trouble?” In all his research about Laurel Quinn and Lives Under Construction, Grant had read nothing negative.

“Not so far,” Dahlia admitted. “But the current group of boys is more troubled than previous residents at Lives have been. Especially one boy, Arlen.”

As she nibbled off the last vestige of her pale pink lipstick, a thoughtful looked transformed her face.

“Arlen?” he asked.

“Yes.” She slid the drawings back into the tube, then leaned forward. “Most of the kids in town have access to quads in summer and snow mobiles in winter.”

“Quads? Oh, like all-terrain vehicles.”

“Right. But the Lives boys aren’t allowed to drive. Even if they could, Laurel can’t have them taking off all over the countryside. She has to know where they are at all times. They are serving a sentence, after all.”

“Right.” Grant blinked at the intensity of her tone. She certainly was passionate about this project.

“A go-kart track would allow them some freedom as well as some fun,” Dahlia added. “Lives sits on an old army base with a runway that I can clean up so it can be used as the track,” she explained. “I’ve acquired some karts, too, but they’ll need repair. The boys will have to figure out that part because I’m not very mechanical.”

“I see.” It wasn’t a bad idea.

“When it’s complete,” Dahlia explained, a faraway look filling her eyes, “the boys could have a special day when they allow their town friends to use the track.”

“Which would give them some esteem among their peers.” At last he understood. “Clever. I like it.”

“Then you’ll help?” Dahlia said.

“Sure. If I can,” Grant agreed, pleased to be part of something that didn’t require making beds and trying to turn masses of red-gold auburn hair into what Eva had called French braids.

“Great! Thank you, Grant.”

“I’m going to be busy.” He glanced at the curly heads on either side of him. “There are these two, of course, and Lives. I’ll also be working part-time as the school’s guidance counselor.”

“I’ll be grateful for whatever time you can spare.” Dahlia settled into her seat with a smile and sipped her coffee.

Grant let his gaze trail down her left arm to her hand. No ring. So Dahlia Wheatley was single.

If there were single women in Churchill, maybe he could find a wife. People still got married for convenience, didn’t they?

Ordinarily Grant would have run a mile from the idea of remarrying. Eva had been his one and only shot at love and he’d lost her. But he wasn’t looking for romance. He sure wouldn’t marry to have children—he’d never bring a child into the world. But he needed a wife because he had no clue how to be a father. When it came to raising the twins, he was as hopeless as his old man. But the right wife would know how to fill in for his lack.

As Grant mulled over the idea of marriage, his eyes were busy admiring the lovely Dahlia. He wondered if she’d consider such a proposition. He had a hunch she was good with kids. After all, he’d slept for over three hours and yet somehow there’d been no catastrophe or complaints. Dahlia’s doing, he was sure. The drawings tucked into the seat backs and the smudge of marker on Dahlia’s hand were signs that she’d known exactly how to handle them.

“Grant?”

He blinked and refocused on Dahlia, glad she could have no idea of his thoughts—otherwise she’d probably flee the train.

“I was thinking that maybe I could babysit Grace and Glory once in a while, in exchange for your help with my project.” Her gaze lingered on the girls before it lifted to meet his.

“That would be nice.” It surprised Grant just how nice it sounded.

“Good.” She smothered a yawn. “Sorry. I’m tired. I think I’d better get some sleep before we arrive.” After smiling at him again, she turned sideways in her seat, pulled a blanket over her shoulders and closed her eyes.

Grant wasn’t in the least bit sleepy. Maybe coming here hadn’t been a mistake after all. Maybe God was finally answering his prayer.

Glory murmured something and shifted restlessly. He stayed as still as he could, even though pins and needles were now numbing his arm.

Don’t let them wake up yet, he prayed silently. I’ll never get them back to sleep and they need sleep. Please?

God answered his prayer as Grace automatically reached out and folded her hand over her twin’s. Moments later, both little girls were still.

Grant glanced sideways at Dahlia Wheatley. He couldn’t imagine anyone taking Eva’s place. But neither was he capable of ensuring the girls had the home life their mother would have wanted for them.

Was Dahlia mother material?

He gave his head a shake. First things first. All he had to do right now was get to Churchill, and get their lives set up. He’d worry about Dahlia’s part in their lives later.